Waltz of the flowers
by SailorYue
Summary: It'd 75 years since their fight, and Aziraphale sensed that Crowley had moved away from London, whether long term or short he isn't sure. He decides to investigate, wondering if there was any way to repair the rift of that fight in 1862. What he finds is a surprise. There had been talk of a beautiful Prima ballerina with deep red hair, that has charmed all audiences with her dance.


Had it in me that Crowley would definitely have the body for a good ballerina, and I've drawn a bunch of Crowley as a ballerina, look up my tumblr for "ballet" to see my doodles!

This takes place after their fight in 1962 and before their reunion in 1941.

...

It had 75 years since their fight, and Aziraphale sensed that Crowley had moved away from London, whether long term or short he isn't sure. He decides to investigate, wondering if there was any way to repair the rift of that fight in 1862. What he finds is a surprise. There had been talk of a beautiful Prima ballerina with deep red hair, that has charmed all audiences with her perfect enchanting movements. Many say that she usually keeps her eyes hidden, unless she was on stage, so no one knows what she looks like outside of costume. Aziraphale wonders, who is this beautiful ballerina?

Curiosity is sometimes a great and terrible thing, and can often get the better of even the strongest person. Aziraphale had to know if this prima ballerina was in fact his old friend. They hadn't spoken since he stormed away from St James' park almost eighty years ago. He had sense Crowley had been in this city, but he couldn't be sure if he was who he had a hunch about. He sense no supernatural energy coming from the dance hall, so his next best bet was to actually watch the show. He managed to get a decent enough seat, close to the stage in the Orchestra section. Close enough that he could see all the dancers clearly, and far enough away that he wouldn't be seen if the demon was in fact in the show.

He watched enthralled as the dancers moved with skilled ease and was drawn in easily with the story. He couldn't entirely be sure that the dancer he was looking for was Crowley, until she turned and moved in an almost supernatural ease, flying across the stage, dancing upon her toes, looking as if she herself was lost to the music, the angel watching as the joy was spread across her face. From the angle he was at, he could not be sure if her eyes were yellow. They could be. Aziraphale could not take his eyes off her, watching as if she was the only person on stage. He felt his heart pound, and a feeling he had thought he'd buried pushing through. Without a doubt, he knew then. The dancer was indeed his demon friend. He had rarely ever seen him smile, and when he did it always stirred something within, and there it was, the same smile, the same elation. He certainly missed that.

It wasn't long before the show was over, and the spell was broken. The dancers all took their bow, and for that moment, the prima ballerina and Aziraphale locked eyes. The joyous smile immediately dropped from her face, and she had to struggle to put it back as a stage hand brought her flowers, she smiled and said her thanks, before heading towards her dressing room, shutting the door sharply, causing part of her name plate to fall off.

Aziraphale had miracled a bouquet of flowers in his hands as he searched for the mysterious ballerina's dressing room. He was pointed in the direction of the right room and found the name "Antonia" emblazoned on the plate. He knocked gently on the door.

"Madame?" He said softly.

A voice from the other side responded, "Yes, can I help you?"

The angel hesitated before continuing, "Your name wouldn't happen to be Crowley, would it?"

On the other side of the door the ballerina's heart pounded, mind racing on how to respond. "Does my door say my name is 'Crowley'?"

"Oh, no it doesn't. I was just wondering... you look so much like my old friend." Aziraphale saddened, "Although I am not entirely sure if he would even consider me his friend anymore."

"Oh? Why not?" Antonia could have kicked herself at how she said that.

Luckily the angel didn't seem to realize it, "You see, we had a fight some time ago. I may have said something that came out the wrong way, and I haven't seen him since."

"You haven't?"

Aziraphale leaned against the door, thinking back at how their argument went down. It was so long ago, and at the time he hadn't realized Crowley's reaction to his use of the word 'fraternizing.' He's had a lot of time to think about it, and now? "No. I had been hoping to apologize for what I said. He asked me for something and I suppose I panicked." The angel let out a breath in a sharp manner, one might think it a laugh. "I had told him that I wasn't an idiot, but perhaps I was. I pushed away my only friend."

Antonia was grateful there was the door between them. It took everything within her to not rip the door open then and there. She placed a hand on the door, wanting to tell him how wrong he was at thinking himself an idiot. SHE was the one who was an idiot, holding on to anger for so long, trying to hide from her heart.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, my dear lady. I should be going now, I hope you have a wonderful evening."

She heard the angel's footsteps retreat, and she tore open the door, calling "Angel?" to the empty hall; well almost empty hall. She took notice of the planter by her door. In a medium sized flower pot were a bunch of blue and purple hyacinths. She bent down to pick it up, sensing the lingering angelic miracle around the pot. She took the flowers into her dressing room and closed the door. She then lost the will to stand, sliding down to the floor, leaning against the door. She took of her darkened glasses to try to stop the flowing tears. She wanted to stay mad at the angel, she tried to get away, thinking perhaps if she moved away from her desire it would stop. But she was wrong. She clutched the pot of flowers to her chest, and sat there for an unknown amount of time, her tears providing ample water to the flowers of sincerity and forgiveness.


End file.
